


Cut Away the Worn Pieces

by MusicalDefiance



Category: Persona 5
Genre: :3c, Anxiety, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Headcanon, M/M, akira doesn't like haircuts :(, and haircutting stuff, but it's kay cuz ryuji's here to help, some soft head scratches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 23:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15230901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalDefiance/pseuds/MusicalDefiance
Summary: "There is nothing straight and crisp and clean about Akira’s hair. Nothing about it matches how he dresses or carries himself to the public eye, and yet it is so him. The real him. The laid back whirlwind his friends and companions know so well, whose smile could light up a room and whose smirk could knock you back eight hundred feet in both fear and questionable arousal."A headcanon of mine that Akira has a hard time with haircuts, but his best friend is coming to the rescue.





	Cut Away the Worn Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old ass headcanon of mine that I've been toying with for a while. It was originally going to be my free day fic for Pegoryu Week but that never came to fruition because I needed to fix some things. Now it's a two parter, so I hope you enjoy it!

There are quite a few positive things that can be said of Akira Kurusu.

He’s bold, intelligent, a charmer of sorts, and kind to those around him, despite what anyone in their school that doesn’t know him might say. And yes, some of these things may have had to improve over time, but they’re certainly growing aspects of him either way that you look at it. Akira is far from undesirable, no matter what anyone may believe.

Even as a phantom thief, he’s cunning, brave, and powerful. Despite his initial nerves in taking on a leadership position, he’s taken a shine to it. He’s never hesitant, never unsure of his choices and his moves. He’s always ready to accept a role or a task that feels too big for him, one that everyone else would normally feel uncertain about, and always has the utmost faith in both himself and his team. Or at least, if he doesn’t, he’s damn good at faking it. 

Aside from his personality, Akira has one other thing that seems to always keep him a leg up from the rest of the crowd, regardless of it being the more shallow approach to looking at him. That would be his sense of style.

Akira is always dressed to impress. His school uniform never looks disheveled, always crisp and clean every single day, despite how often he wears it. His casual clothes are always so dressy, with his fancy jackets covering his linen shirts, and his jeans looking distressed but just enough to still look expensive. It doesn’t matter how hot it is, the dork is always in his nice little jackets and overshirts. His shoes are consistently perfect and shiny, as if he meticulously polishes and cleans them on a daily basis. Even his glasses, while simple, look so well made for his face, like he was born to wear them. He almost looks incomplete without them. Every accessory just adds another element of aesthetic perfection.

He doesn’t necessarily look preppy, and yet he does; a rich kid looking like he’d still gone down the alleyway mommy and daddy had told him not to at least once or twice. Honestly, none of them even truly know what Akira’s wealth looks like back home, but he certainly dresses like he isn’t struggling.

Day in and day out, he always looks his best. It’s enough to make a guy jealous and a girl swoon; enough to fool the world into thinking he’s something he isn’t.

The same can’t exactly be said for his hair though.

Akira’s hair is a mystery, one that no one gets and no one seemingly ever will. It’s such a mess, it’s charcoal tangles and curls constantly shooting out here and there in complete sporadic madness. You would think at first glance that the boy willingly stuck his head directly into a cyclone and just let it be what it is. The individual hairs dance to their own tune, hugging together in some places and lazily hanging by themselves in others. His bangs cover his face in a way so nonsensical anyone would wonder how he manages with it.

There is nothing straight and crisp and clean about Akira’s hair. Nothing about it matches how he dresses or carries himself to the public eye, and yet it is so him. The real him. The laid back whirlwind his friends and companions know so well, whose smile could light up a room and whose smirk could knock you back eight hundred feet in both fear and questionable arousal.

Just like so many other elements, it’s a part of him. Just another piece of the puzzle that makes up the bucket of charm and bad taste that is Akira Kurusu. 

No one understands how it works, and no one really cares to question it either. Is it a deliberate style choice, or is he just too lazy to deal with the mess? Ryuji has scanned his room curiously once or twice, searching for bottles of styling gel or hairspray that he was positive Akira would have on hand, just out of his nagging curiosity, yet found nothing. Just regular shampoo bottles and conditioner, nothing overly luxurious. Hell, from the smell alone he’d wondered why he would even bother with something so cheap.

He also questioned how despite that, said shampoo could still smell so good wafting off Akira , but he didn’t want to think too hard about that.

It’s perfect though in so many ways, regardless of how imperfect it seems. Perfect for the way it frames his face and makes him look so young and small. Perfect in how soft it is to the touch and how easy it is to dive your fingers into. Perfect in that it blows along with the wind just right to make him such a head turner.

That’s only when it’s not too long though.

The problem with messy, curly, typhoon attacked hair is that when it gets long, that effortless beauty fades. It becomes shaggy and untamed, gets everywhere and sticks every which way. If it was a mess before, it’s only so much worse later.

Quite unfortunately for Akira, he is no exception to this rule.

It’s Ryuji who starts to notice it first. How Akira keeps slicking his hair back while they’re meeting for Phantom Thieves business. How he keeps taking moments to flick his hair away while they’re in palaces, a habit that’s becoming more prevalent than him adjusting his gloves. How Akira will walk into his class with nothing on his head, and then walk out with various brightly colored hair clips holding his bangs up that he undoubtedly filched from Ann. One day there’s even a sparkly pink headband, and he wears it the whole day.

The most criminal thing is that he still looked pretty damn good wearing it. If there’s one thing Ryuji can never understand, it’s how Akira can still be handsome when he looks really,  _ really  _ dumb. Honestly, it isn’t fair.

It’s getting kind of ridiculous though, and he isn’t one to notice something’s wrong with Akira and let it go. He can see it on Akira’s face almost daily. The frustrated look in his eyes when he has to shake the sweat off his head and wring it out of his hair. The low mutters and groans when those hair clips won’t stay in place with all his fast paced movements in Mementos, and the increased grumbling when a smart alek shadow points them out and laughs. The eye roll he had seen once or twice as Akira tried to pull his hair back into a ponytail but still doesn’t have quite enough to make it work.

But Akira is who he is. He’s not bound to openly complain about something, no matter how much it bugs him. As usual he keeps anything that bothers him locked away and kept safe from everyone else, as if even the smallest of inconveniences to him are big enough to throw the entire team off their game. 

Ryuji never really gets that about him, but he knows deep down Akira has his reasons and he chooses to respect that as best he can. But that doesn’t mean that he’s not about to bring them up.

He doesn’t say anything until they’re alone together one afternoon, playing video games and sweating to death in the oven that is Leblanc’s attic. They’re both fully clothed, for no good reason Ryuji thinks, sitting on the floor against Akira’s futon as the fans surrounding them do almost nothing to bring them relief. Morgana’s run off to find shade; the damn cat’s lucky that he’s small enough to fit in the tiniest crevices to hide away from the sun’s death rays.

Ryuji tries not to, but his eyes keep looking over to Akira. It’s not hard to get distracted by him, because every ten seconds he’s fidgeting. Another flick of his head to get his hair out of his eyes. Another slick back with his hand to try to get the strands in their place. Another fumbling with Ann’s fucking hot ass pink  _ sparkly _ hair clips to get them secured to his scalp again. He sees it all, every adjustment and every little grimace that falls over his mouth.

It’s when he loses after taking his hand off the controller for the nth time when Ryuji speaks up.

“Dude, is your hair buggin’ you?”

Akira huffs, hand falling lazily back on his controller while the other moves to press against his cheek. His hair mercilessly falls right back into his face.

“S’fine.” he says through pouted lips.

“Yeah I bet.” Ryuji responds, setting his controller down on the floor next to his leg and moving to pull his shirt in and out against his chest to let some air in. “You’ve been messin’ with it all damn day.”

“Not a big deal.” Akira assures him, leaning his head back against the futon mattress and letting his bangs flop back to the top of his head. “It’s just hot.”

“It might be,” Ryuji says, sitting up a little and propping his arm on his bent leg, “but your hair sure looks like a freakin’ hot  _ mess _ .”

Akira looks at him, his face fallen into pure offense. It’s so kiddish and cute that Ryuji has to fight to resist the urge to laugh.

“Excuse you,” Akira starts, sitting up more properly, “but I am the  _ epitome _ of fashion.”

“Fashion and hair ain’t that same thing.” Ryuji reminds him with a small grin, rewarding him with an annoyed pout from his best friend. “'Sides, you’re  _ really  _ gunna sit here and tell me it hasn’t been a bit much for you lately?”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Akira asks impatiently.

“Well lemme think.” he says, laying his head back on the mattress with his hands pressed against his chest, pointing up an individual finger at a time as he talks. “You complain about it all the time, even when you think I don’t hear you but I do. The shit's always in your eyes, you keep using Ann’s ugly ass hair clips-”

“I think they make me look pretty, thanks.” Akira retorts, leaning over Ryuji with a huff and a smirk.

Ryuji rolls his eyes, “Whatever, man. But anyways, you keep effin’ messin’ with it, it gets tangled in your glasses all the damn time, and as of right now, you look like a wet sheep dog.” he adds, pointedly looking up into Akira’s eyes.

The look on Akira’s face is so deliciously insulted and Ryuji immediately regrets not having his phone out to snap a picture.

“How  _ could you _ ?” he shouts, putting a hand dramatically to his chest. “After all this time, now is when you choose to break me down.”

“Akira-” Ryuji starts, lifting his head up.

“Rip me apart as a man, as the fashionista you know I so rightfully am.”

“Akira-” he says more intently.

“This whole time I thought we were friends.” he finishes, crossing his arms with an obvious pout.

Ryuji just sighs, flopping his head back down onto the mattress. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re mean.” Akira complains.

Ryuji heaves his body back up with a groan, leaning the top half over his legs while he stares up at Akira’s pouty face, though to be honest he can’t decide if he’s actually irritated or not. One hair clip is now dangling on the end of a lock of his hair like it's hanging on for dear life, while all the movement and sweat certainly isn’t helping many of the others. He looks like a bratty three year old girl that a mom scolded for playing in her beauty box.

It’s kind of cute. He doesn’t know why he thinks that, all things considered, but it is regardless.

“You’ll get over it.” he says with a smile, pushing his fist lightly into Akira’s side. Akira just huffs again, exaggerated as ever, but he can’t hide the amused grin sneaking onto his face.

“Nope, I won’t. I’m scorned forever and will never forgive you.” he returns with a smirk, turning back around and slinking back into the floor. His hair plops into his eyes again and his face falls the second his glasses are covered. He just sighs, blowing it up with a puff of air from his lips and grumbling when it immediately falls back down.

“S’a good look for you.” Ryuji laughs.

Akira grumbles something incoherent, and Ryuji laughs again.

“I just...” he starts, flipping his body backwards and crawling around the floor like a prowling cat. Ryuji can hear something clatter to the floor followed by Akira’s groan. “I need a better solution than these.”

“Better than what?” Ryuji asks, looking over at him with an eyebrow raise.

Without looking back Akira holds up a bright colored object high above his head. One of the hair clips, clearly not where it should be. Ryuji rolls his eyes.

“Why do you even bother with those damn things?” he prods, turning himself over and slumping the top half of his body on top of the mattress to watch Akira, arms hanging lazily off the side in front of him with fingertips barely skimming the wood floor. It’s funny watching him scramble like this, looking in various little boxes he keeps in or on his workbench to no avail. His school bag is also shown no mercy, his hands greedily rummaging through every inch of the black cloth like a raccoon scavenging in a trash can for its dinner.

There’s no grace to it, and that only makes it funnier. There’s nothing elegant about what he’s doing, not a hint of that cocky-ass Joker physicality showing through. It’s just exasperated and fruitless searching, as if Akira’s just got an array of hair accessories at his disposal. You know, like every other  _ normal _ guy in Shibuya.

Ryuji’s eyebrows raise when Akira actually comes up with something in his hand— a handful of multicolored hair ties, every single one of them some ridiculous neon color.

“This’ll work.” he proclaims proudly, sitting back down on his butt while still facing away from the rest of the room. He takes his phone out, sliding it open to the camera function just like he’s watched Ann do so many times, and sets it on the floor to go about his work. Ryuji’s in awe the whole time, watching Akira’s fingers start to wrestle with the crazed strands of black hair covering his head.

It’s always interesting observing Akira’s fingers work through things. His hands are so steady, whether they’re working their way through a locked chest, flipping a pencil in the air, or in this case, playing with strands of hair to make them go where he wants them. His fingers are so small and long, like ones you’d watch skate across a piano with ease. Ryuji silently wonders to himself if Akira would be good at piano. He probably would be, honestly. Akira’s good at everything.

At least, he's good at everything except admitting when something’s a lost cause.

It’s only been a minute, and if he didn’t look stupid before, he  _ definitely  _ does now. His ongoing frustration continues, as his hair is still  _ not quite  _ long enough to hold one solid ponytail. Instead, he’s got about four ties in his hair, wrapped an absurd number of times and clinging to such a small amount in each place that they look like they’ll sling off any second. He’s trying to get another on the top of his head, working to get those bangs to stay in place, but he can’t reach it as well as he would like and none of the strands will cooperate with him. It’s such a pitiful sight; Ryuji wants to help him (and definitely wants to laugh at him), but he doesn’t know what to do.

After a moment Akira sighs, dropping his hand into his lap with the neon yellow tie he had been playing with in his hand, already fidgeting with it and turning it back and forth in his fingers. He’s frustrated, it isn’t hard to read him anymore.

Ryuji shakes his head against the mattress. “Dude,” he starts, pulling his arm up. “Just go get a haircut.”

Akira tenses almost immediately, and Ryuji definitely notices.

“Not gunna happen.” he answers too quickly, still looking away from Ryuji and slicking his hair back again. He’s staring straight at the wall, eyes lost in some kind of train of thought, lacking the focus they’re so used to containing. Ryuji can see that his jaw has tightened ever so slightly.

The change is so instant,  _ too _ instant. The entire room feels colder, as if they’d just stepped into the Metaverse rather than stayed seated in the attic. Ryuji doesn’t know exactly how to comprehend it. He’d made such a simple suggestion, was it really that much of a problem?

He shifts his body up, pulling in his arms and leaning his head on top of them as he peers to get a better look at Akira’s face. He doesn’t like what he sees. If there’s anything he doesn’t like viewing, it’s without a doubt Akira’s contemplative frown. The one he gets when he’s thinking way too hard-- the one he gets when something is bothering him.

He prods the issue lightly, “How come?”

Akira doesn’t say anything for a second, and then just shakes his head. “Just don’t want to.”

“Yeah, okay, that much is clear.” Ryuji concedes. “But like,  _ why _ don't you want to? Shit’s clearly buggin’ you, aint it?”

“I didn’t say it was.” Akira answers.

“Didn’t have to.” Ryuji provides, sitting himself up more to rest his chin on his hand. He can see Akira’s irritated expression even better this way, and he likes it even less. “It doesn’t take much for me to pick up on you, y’know.”

Akira sighs, “I just need it to work with me. That’s the only thing getting on my nerves.”

“Sure, but you and I both know that’s bullshit.”

Ryuji can see Akira giving him a look from behind his glasses. He doesn’t back down.

“Look man, you might be able to fool everyone else but you can’t fool me. It’s bothering you, a lot. And you keep getting this look on your face like you want it to quit but you’re not doin’ anything about it.” He rolls his head on the top of his hand. “That’s not the Kurusu I know, somethin’s up.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he looks away and exhales, his fingers incessantly tugging at one of the neon bands in his fingers. Ryuji frowns back at him.

“Come on, man. You know you can always tell me what’s up, right? You know I’m not gunna judge you for it.”

“I know that.” Akira says softly. He’s pulling the band harder now, to the point where Ryuji’s pretty sure it’s going to snap.

“Well then why won’t you just spit it out?” he prods again.

Akira’s quiet for a bit, and the tension in the room gets a little thicker. Ryuji’s almost nervous from it, even though he doesn’t have any real reason to be. It’s never a great sign when Akira gets super quiet. That look in his eyes is one that’s telling, a look that says there’s way too much rifling through his brain. Like he has to fight with himself on whether or not he should give Ryuji a reason. Either way, he doesn’t like it.

Out of nowhere, the band snaps apart in Akira’s hand, making Ryuji jolt beside him.

“Dude, are you-?”

“I don’t like getting haircuts.” Akira interrupts, his stare piercing the wall in front of him.

Ryuji pauses for a second, and then leans his head back down on top of his folded arms. “Well that doesn’t seem like a giant issue. I never really used to like gettin’ em either. Always felt like it never came out the way I wanted.” He rolls his head again, gaining a better look at Akira’s face. “You like scared of ‘em or somethin’?”

Akira shakes his head, “Not really. I just…  _ really _ don’t like them.”

Ryuji can feel a little smile tugging on his lips. Akira Kurusu not liking haircuts, it’s almost a hilarious revelation. You would think with how intent he is on strutting his best looks, he’d be a regular at a hair salon, looking into the best ways to keep his hair up to date and sharp.

But it’s clearly not funny to Akira. The look in his eyes is so distant and unsure, and Ryuji can see that he’s biting the inside of his mouth. Even though the band is broken, he’s still playing with it in his fingers; normal Akira “Always Fidgeting” Kurusu fashion. He’s trying to distract himself.

“Is there a reason for that?” he asks. He moves to sit up properly on the bed, but leans over anyways with his chin in his hand to look at Akira while his legs hang over the edge. “I know when I was a kid my mom always used cut mine too short, but we couldn’t afford to go out for haircuts or nothin’. So I always kinda didn’t like doing it. Maybe you’re the opposite though?”

“The opposite?” Akira asks, giving Ryuji a small glance.

“Yeah, like I didn’t like ‘em because of how my mom did it, but maybe it’s harder for you to want to get ‘em because your mom did it better or somethin’.” He shakes his head, “Geez, I bet that’d suck, being away from home and your personal stylist is so far aw-”

“That’s definitely not it.” Akira assures.

Oh, Ryuji’s  _ definitely  _ raising an eyebrow now.

“Somethin’ with your mom, then?” he pushes. He watches as Akira pulls tighter on the band.

“Something like that.” he answers.

“Something like…?”

Akira stays quiet for a bit longer, and then lets out a slow exhale. Ryuji’s patient though; he knows whatever it is has got to be bugging the ever loving daylights out of him, but pushing the issue too hard is way more likely to have him reel back than it is to make him talk. If there’s anything he knows about his best friend, it’s that he’s got to be open to the idea of saying what’s wrong with him, rather than being forced to let it out. But he supposes (and maybe hopes a little) that if he’s going to vent to anyone, it’s most likely to be him.

Ryuji hears him click his tongue once before he talks again.

“My parents are kind of heavy handed when it comes to how I look.”

Ryuji feels his lip curve into an unsure scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Akira hangs his head back and let his hair flop backwards off his forehead again with another sigh. “Mom and dad are always kind of… fickle with how I show myself off. They’ve always been a little pushy about the kind of clothes I wear, the kind of bags I use, and I guess my hair too. I always thought it was pretty dumb, it’s not like we’re rich and they want me to be sporting the fanciest of fancy shit, but they’ve always been big on how we present ourselves.”

His hands fall behind his back and push him off the ground, supporting himself as he leans back, and Ryuji just stares at him as Akira’s eyes go straight up into the ceiling. “They get on my ass about my hair especially. It grows out a lot, and it’s kind of a mess, so they made me get it cut pretty frequently. If it ever got even a little bit past where they liked it, I’d get bitched out for it big time, and they always made it a pretty unpleasant experience to deal with.” He pauses for a moment and looks off to the side, “They would do it themselves a lot, and they never really went easy on me. It’s really thick and it’ll get stuck in the hair clippers and pull and just...” he trails off, idly rubbing the back of his head like it aches. “Sometimes they’d say things too, like get mad at me for letting it get that bad. I dunno, it’s kinda dumb…”

Ryuji’s expression turns into something far more solemn. “Dude... that’s freaking  _ awful _ .”

Akira closes his eyes, “I guess, yeah.” His lips firm up for a second, but he lets out a soft exhale. “I uh… Mom and dad were getting on me big time like right before everything happened, with the guy and the woman back home I mean... But they didn’t have time to, you know,  _ fix it _ before I got sent off to jail, and then here. So I kind of just, I dunno, let it grow out? And I haven’t really wanted to cut it that bad.”

Ryuji gives him a pitying smile, “Sounds like your parents would kill you if they saw how bad it is now.” He winces when he sees Akira’s eyebrows furrow at the comment. “ _ Shit _ , sorry, that was in bad taste there.”

Akira sighs and gives him a small shrug, “S’okay, who knows anyways? They haven’t really talked to me much since.”

Owch, that was something Ryuji didn’t know about. He tries to shake off that thought.

“Well, it’s bothering you now isn’t it, shouldn’t you go fix it? I’m not saying do it for them or anything, hell no. But I can tell it’s getting on your nerves.”

Akira’s eyes open a little, just enough to be half lidded, but the expression on his face is very solemn. “I guess I should but… I dunno.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Ryuji argues. “Come on, man, even  _ you _ have to admit that it’s getting out of hand. You’ve got like thirty damn hairbands on your head right now. Ann’s gunna be pissed if you keep stealing them from her.”

“These were gifts, I would never steal from a lady.” Akira says, his tone mock offended, but his face isn’t matching the playfulness of his words.

Ryuji looks determined, “Whatever, dude. My point is that you need you should at least like, I dunno,  _ consider _ getting it done?”

He lets those words fall across the room, and he gets no answer to them for longer than he expected. It’s not long before Akira’s sitting back up, flopping his hair back into his face to where he can’t see through his glasses anymore. He’s frowning, maybe even biting his bottom lip, and Ryuji’s starting to form a pout to match it.

“I don’t know if I can.” he admits quietly, and the band is returning to his hands, being stretched mercilessly between his fingers.

Ryuji sighs, “It really bugs you that bad, huh?”

He doesn’t give a verbal answer, but he nods anyways. Ryuji growls when he watches him do it.

“Your parents are jackasses.” he mutters under his breath.

Akira shrugs again, and Ryuji thinks he should feel bad that he said something like that to Akira, but he can’t really find it in his heart. Instead he just places a hand on top of Akira’s head gently, letting his fingers sink into his dark locks giving him a little scratch. Despite the conversation, he isn’t scared to do it. Akira’s always been relatively open to touch before, and has definitely encouraged his friends playing with his hair. It’s a soothing activity, one that Ryuji knows from prior experience helps to calm his nerves at least a little.

After a minute Akira’s treating the band in his hand a lot more nicely, having almost gone completely limp from the shoulders up as Ryuji caresses his scalp. Ryuji smiles at his contentment, feeling maybe a little too prideful at his handiwork.

“You’re just like a damn cat, I swear.” he says with a chuckle. “I feel like you’d be purring if you could.”

“Hmm,” Akira hums thoughtfully. “Can’t help it, feels nice.”

“Your mom ‘n dad never did this kinda shit for you, huh?”

“Not a chance.” he replies, his voice almost sleepy sounding.

And yet it’s okay for him to do it. Even after having such a bad association with hair and touch, Akira’s never one to turn down the opportunity for this kind of treatment, whether from Ryuji or any other one of their friends if they feel so inclined. With this new context it’s interesting to think about, and it makes him wonder why that seems to be the case.

It gets him wondering if there’s something he can do with that. He’s tired of watching Akira suffer like this, even if he’s going to act like it’s not bothering him.

“I wanna help you out, man.” he says, keeping up his work as Akira continues to melt underneath him. “I know you don’t wanna, but if this is bothering you there’s gotta be something that we can do about it.”

Akira hums again, “You don’t need to worry about it, ‘m okay…”

“Yeah, I know.” he says back, not actually thinking it. “But you could always be more okay, and I wanna help you get there.”

Akira just sighs, and Ryuji pulls his lips in.

“If I figure somethin’ out, somethin’ that’ll make you a little less afraid, would you trust me to try it?” he asks, pulling his hand away.

“Ryuji…” he starts, looking over at him.

“Would you?” he presses again, much more insistently.

Akira seems to ponder the question for a moment, looking straight into Ryuji’s eyes with some look of uncertainty, but he relents.

“I trust you.” he says, and it sounds entirely sincere.

Ryuji smiles, “Thanks, man. I’ll do my best, okay?”

Akira smiles back, but it’s small and nervous. It makes Ryuji’s heart wither in his chest a bit unexpectedly, but he’s not going to let that hold him back now. For the first time in a long time, he might actually get the chance to do something to help Akira for once. Just another small dent in the giant amount that he owes him for everything he’s done for him.

He leaves earlier than he really wants to from Leblanc that night-- he has a lot of research to do when he gets home.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for the second half! :3c
> 
> Come scream at me on Tumblr!: [MusicalDefiance](http://musicaldefiance.tumblr.com/)


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